Drowning Under the Weight of the World
by truglasgowgal
Summary: Once we were friends, the best of friends. We were the Non-Judging Breakfast Club. He lay down his life for us, but it turns out, this isn’t just his story. This is the story of all of us.
1. Prologue: Blair

Hi there!  
This is just a random little ficlet that came to me last week, and sort of blossomed. It's only five or so chapters long, and they're not huge installments, so I'll be posting a new part every couple of days or so.

Hope you enjoy…

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**Title:** Drowning Under the Weight of the World  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, sad as it is, it is no less true :'(  
**Summary:** Once we were friends, the best of friends. We were the Non-Judging Breakfast Club. He lay down his life for us, but it turns out, this isn't just his story. This is the story of all of us.

"_Times change and people change  
But true friends are supposed to always be there,  
To always care. They're supposed to continuously  
Listen and take action,  
Save me as I drown."  
__**Vanessa Carlton, 'Drowning'**_

-

Prologue: Blair

_"And if you peel away the skin you'll find the strong survive, but they can't always win."  
**Hedley, 'Sink or Swim'**_

Let me set the scene for you.

**Graduation Day. 2009. Somewhere over the Atlantic.**

We're on the Bass Inc. private plane.

_Chuck's_ private plane.

We're having fun: laughing and joking, drinking.

We're teenagers, reveling in our newfound 'freedom' that is the end of high school.

We're looking forward to sunning ourselves on the pink sandy beaches while drinking cocktails, watching sunset and sunrise across the glittering ocean.

We're best friends, and we're going on vacation together; getting away from it all before the rest of our lives begin.

-

**Graduation Day. 2009. Somewhere near the Atlantic.**

We're jolted out of our seats, sent flying into one another.

We're calling out for answers, and hearing panic in the pilot's voice when it's supposed to reassure.

We're hastily fastening seatbelts with fumbling fingers, grasping hands as tightly as we can.

We're shutting our eyes and bracing for impact, and rocking violently against the armrests.

We're hurtling towards whatever lies below at a terrifying pace, crushing palms between interlocked fingers and murmuring fervent _I love you_'s like they're our last dying wish.

We're screaming against the torrid of waves rocking the vessel that's supposed to travel by air, not sea and desperate voices are instructing, eyes beseeching.

We're being pushed and pulled and directed towards the quickest, most accessible route of escape, holding hands, banded together; our last line of survival.

-

**Graduation Day. 2009. Somewhere in the Atlantic.**

We're under water, and it's cold and stifling.

We're swimming against the tide, legs kicking hard against the forces that try to pull us under.

We're ascending, rising through the darkness, holding hands still, and we're breaking through the surface.

He's missing.

We're floating, trying to push away from the flows that threaten to pull us back under, holding tight to one another, and shouting pleas to anyone under Heaven's reach to save us.

He's gasping for breath, and choking on water, and dying; leaving us.

We're losing him.

**-**

**Graduation Day. 2009. Somewhere around the Atlantic.**

We survive.

He disappears.

-

My eyes lift to meet the ones staring blankly at me from across the room.

He'd asked me to tell him about it, that night. The journey where we left as carefree graduates, best friends till the end; and returned one less, almost-strangers.

He hadn't said it, of course. No, he'd phrased it differently. But I knew what he'd meant.

"Tell me a story," he'd said.

I think my eyes have lost their color; maybe my face has too, because he's suddenly looking at me like I'm a lost at sea, floundering against a current that threatens to pull me under at any moment.

But this is what he wants, right?

This is what they all want?

Because if I talk about it, if I talk about _him_, then I'll be her again, the girl I was before.

Except I'll never be her again, that girl: she's nothing more than an image blurred by raging currents and rolling waves.

He's still looking at me, and I can see the questions in his eyes as he wades through them in his mind.

Am I taking my medication?

Did he push me too far this time?

… Am I finally beginning to move on?

_Never…_

"That's not a very happy story," he remarks, cautiously making his way through the undercurrent.

I eye him carefully, and feel a swirl of emotion spin me on my axis.

I shrug lightly, and tell him simply, "The hero dies in this one. Apparently."

It is explanation enough.

Because, _apparently_, he did.

And it hurts.

He's gone, and we're here; and nothing can ever be the same after that.

_"So this is the grand finale  
The crescendo of demise  
This is the happy ending  
Where the bad guy goes down and dies  
This is the end  
With me on my knees and wondering why?  
Cross my heart, hope to die."  
__**Glasvegas, '**__**It's my own cheating heart that makes me cry**__**'**_

TBC…

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Hope you liked it.  
As I said at the start, this is a very short fic, and updates will be every day-every few days; so hopefully you'll stick around to see how it pans out.

Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think - it means alot!  
Steph  
xxx


	2. 1: Serena

Chapter One: Serena

_"A farmer who had a quarrelsome family called his sons and told them to lay a bunch of sticks before him. Then, after laying the sticks parallel to one another and binding them, he challenged his sons, one after one, to pick up the bundle and break it. They all tried, but in vain. Then, untying the bundle, he gave them the sticks to break one by one. This they did with the greatest ease. Then said the father, Thus, my sons, as long as you remain united, you are a match for anything, but differ and separate, and you are undone.__"  
__**Aesop**_

She visits him. Well, not _him_; but the stone wall in his place. She finds it oddly fitting.

Nate's there, but he doesn't make a move towards her. It all falls down to her in the end; but when she gets close, realization stops her dead in her ascent.

She's close enough to see the lines that crinkle the edges of his eyes and mouth, age him beyond his years, and it scares her.

He looks up at her and the raging waters present there threaten to pull her under. She takes a breath and prepares to speak, but he shakes his head, and his gaze falls to the strands of emerald swaying around his feet; the color his eyes should be, she thinks momentarily.

He walks past her and when she turns to call his name, he turns and says simply, "Don't, Serena."

He walks away without another word, or glance in her direction. Her eyes fall across the namesake that brought them both here, and suddenly she feels herself crumbling under the weight of his loss.

She never thought of him as the piece that held them all together before, but it slams into her now like the wave too powerful for her to keep afloat.

They each had their part to play in their little circle of friendship. A circle; an endless cycle; no breaks. Except one. Him.

It occurs to her now that he was the constant.

She ran away, trains and planes; from everything, and anything, that ever got too close, too real.

Nate hid, over and over; from himself, and others, the expectations and appraisals.

Blair pretended, played it on repeat; to others, to everyone; perfection and expectations ran in the same circles.

And he was the one that held them all together.

He was the one that saved them all.

She'd always known he had the power to destroy her best friend; had watched the two of them battle it out in a power struggle that began well before their tryst and extended well beyond.

She never realized he had the power to destroy them all.

But he did.

And he does.

She lets go of the line he cast her, the float he presented her with, the lifeline she's been clinging to since he gifted her with the chance for redemption.

She turns on her heel and walks away: because he might not be dead, but Chuck Bass could never be gone forever.

His presence bound them, and now his absence keeps them torn apart.

She lost more than him that day; she lost a family.

Her _bff_ hasn't spoken a word, or even looked at her, since they were lifted into that helicopter and taken from the sea; head count equaling three.

Her former crush avoids her at every turn, barely able to look her in the eye, because parting the sea now to reach her is simply too much.

And the one that they all need is the one they can't get back.

-

There are reporters everywhere and camera lenses seem to follow her constantly, scrutinizing her every move, hastily recounting her life to a society that plays witness through mouths of judgment and eyes of opinion.

She never thought it would be this way, and this time she's referring to the fan of magazines and newspapers spread out in front of her.

Eric doesn't even attempt to conceal his laughter, or his scoff, at her naivety. He tells her that some things never change, the _Serena van der Woodson effect_ being one of those things.

She shoots him a look, and slaps her hand against the image staring back at them from the front page; it's haunting really.

"What did you expect?" he asks incredulously.

"I _expected_ a little more tact, I _expected_ something to do with the baby, or me even. What I did not expect was pages and pages of conspiracy theories and gossip and collages of high school photographs like it's Chuck Bass Memorial Day."

"Only the dead are forever young," her brother murmurs, eerily.

She rolls her eyes at his statement, watching his meander across the photo taken of her the previous day to the one nearly ten years old at her mother's wedding to Bart Bass, noting the changes. The years haven't been nearly as kind as they'd once hoped, to any of them, and she feels the familiar chill run across her skin.

"But since they still haven't found him…" he trails off and then meets her eyes. "He's still out there, Serena."

"He could still be alive, you know," he sounds like he's fifteen years old again, asking her if she thinks their family will survive the death of its patriarch.

"You sound like Blair," she replies, and then heaves a weary sigh.

"You might not like what she says, but there's always truth behind her words," Eric says, like he knows something she doesn't.

She eyes him for a moment and then nods, conceding, "Of course there is."

-

It's different now.

It has to be.

She has a son now.

The papers seemed to have a field day when they found out she was pregnant. She knows why, of course. She's _Serena van der Woodson_; or at least, she used to be. She was a party girl, an It-Girl. She wasn't the one who achieved an Ivy League education and settled down straight after graduating to marry even bigger money and have 2.5 children all before the age of thirty. That was for the Blair Waldorf's of the world; she knew, as did they.

Sometimes, things have a way of just… happening.

So, for nine months, talk about her grew as her figure did.

But it was nothing compared to the reaction after the birth was announced.

-

Nate cancels on the lunch they'd finally arranged with a simple voicemail message that rings silent in her ears, and alerts her to the fact that sometimes there are simply no words.

He doesn't attend the Christening.

His invite sits neatly in the drawer by her bed, though she can't bear to set eyes on it; the large stamp across the front claiming it _Return to Sender_ causes the dull ache inside her chest to deepen.

Blair doesn't bother showing face either.

Again, she'd expected as such. What happened still lingers in her mind; what happened mere hours after the press released the name of the newborn, and 'caught up with' the brunette for a comment.

They all knew what the media wanted, and she was only too happy to give it to them.

She seemed beyond caring at this point.

_"Ms Waldorf! Ms Waldorf! What do you think of the name your best friend has chosen for her son?"_

_"Ms Waldorf! Any comment on the boy's name? The reason behind it?"_

_"Ms Waldorf! Do you agree with reports that the child was named for your dead lover?"_

_The brunette turned sharply at this and fixed her gaze on the interviewer. Her eyes flickered up to the camera then, and for the longest of moments, she felt like Blair was looking straight into her; seeing everything she was too scared to show the world. There are ghosts in the deep of the brunette's mahogany eyes that she thinks will forever haunt her._

_"I can think of a number of reasons why Serena van der Woodson would name her child that; but honoring her former step-brother is not one of them."_

_She turned on her heel at that, determination dripping from every word, as she added venomously, "And for the record, **missing** is not just another word for **dead**."_

From then on, Charlie was only ever referred to by his middle name.

And Blair Waldorf still hasn't spoken a word to her, since that day.

The day they finally called off the search for Chuck Bass.

_"We will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."  
_**_Martin Luther King, Jr._**

TBC...

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Hope you liked it, thanks for reading and please let me know what you think - it means alot!  
Steph  
xxx


	3. 2: Nate

Chapter Two: Nate

"_We read that we ought to forgive our enemies; but we do not read that we ought to forgive our friends."  
**Cosimo de'Medici**_

He's never had the willpower to deny his best friends anything, not _really_.

He knows what happened that night, in the plane, in the water. Knows why his best friend is still missing after all these years; but the two women he's grown up with, two polar opposites, but best friends in themselves, are alive and well, _here_.

He knows he can't really blame them, her. Knows it's not _really_ her fault, not entirely.

But he's still grieving, and he still needs someone to blame; and after a while, it just plain hurts to get angry at someone who'll likely never be found. Just plain hurts to get angry at his _best friend_. His _best friend_ who's not here.

So it's easier to stay away.

He knows it's not really her fault, knows he can't really blame her; but he does it anyway.

Because he doesn't quite think he's ready for forgiveness yet.

-

Sometimes he visits.

It feels all wrong and it hardly ever does anything, but it's all he has – all any of them have – so he grasps it with open arms. There's no body – even after nearly ten years – just a black marble monument proclaiming to the world that Chuck Bass once roamed free here.

He has no doubt his best friend still comes and goes as he pleases. Some things could never change.

And sometimes he sees her.

They're better in their avoidance now than they were that first time. It was her birthday, and somehow it just didn't feel _right_ that he wasn't there with them. Standing talking to a memorial stone was the only consolation prize either of them got.

He'd walked towards her, intent on speaking to her, maybe offering her an empathetic ear or tongue. He hadn't even had uttered her name when she put up her hand and said simply, "Don't, Nate." Her eyes beseeched him and she added, softer then, "Please."

He knew then that not even they could empathize with what they were each going through. He had lived while his best friend had… died; he had to listen to the last words he'd spoken to him play like a loop while sleep evaded him each night; he had to watch his final actions play like a slow torture scene whenever he heard even the slightest trickle of water. But he wasn't the last to see him; he wasn't the reason for his ultimate sacrifice.

He watched her cry; for the boy who was missing out there somewhere or the family that seemed gone forever, he wasn't quite sure. He still isn't quite sure which loss is more tragic.

-

Serena has a child now, a son; a little boy called _Charlie_.

The media swirls around them like a whirlpool, speculation abound. But there's nothing to be found, because there's nothing _there_. He's blond-haired and blue-eyed and the only resemblance he bears to the young man of yesteryears is in namesake, and even then, _Chuck_ would never have stood for _Charlie_.

The first, and only, time he's seen the boy is on the front page of some newspaper or magazine that plastered images of his best friend across the length and breadth of its whole. He feels the bile rise in his throat and the waves of nausea hit as his knees buckle beneath him and he reaches out to grasp the nearest available object for support. As his hand crashes through the glass, the cold water hits him like a tidal wave and he's left gasping for breath, curled up on the floor, fish floundering in the dying sea that circles around him.

-

The air is biting and he can feel his hands going numb as he struggles against the current. Blue eyes as wild as the ocean raging around them stare into him, hands grasping at the yellow inflatable device, slipping and sliding across the material. The brunette's voice is more desperate than he's ever heard it: screaming at the blond within her reach to be quiet; shouting at him to go back under, to look, to listen, just to find him; calling out to a boy who isn't there.

And then his lids droop shut and his limbs are heavier than he ever remembers. A breeze chills his bones, hair sticking to his forehead, and he thinks he can see a body: dark hair, even darker eyes; floating under him, sinking out his reach.

He dives beneath, arms outstretched, reaching. He wants to go further, push harder, but he can't.

Something catches him before he can go any further, and he sees her face staring back at him: dark hair, even darker eyes; floating above him, swimming within his reach.

He rises to the surface and swims over to the blonde she's fighting hard to keep afloat; carving out a watery grave with each stroke he takes through the waves.

He made his choice.

-

His eyes snap wide and he comes to, the smirking face of his best friend waiting to meet him. Alive.

Something wet decorates his face, the taste of salt on his lips bringing with it a terrifying realization that it's not over yet. That maybe it never will be.

The tears continue to fall, even after the tide has gone out, and he knows the nightmare is no longer in his mind; he's been reliving it ever since that day.

His eyes fall on the child named as successor to the boy who once laid claim over their society; ruled their lives; said and did what he pleased when he pleased in a world that was forced to bend under his will, and he wonders how they could ever expect _Charlie_ to be the replacement, when Chuck Bass has never left.

_"For the life of me I cannot remember  
what made us think that we were wise and we'd never compromise  
for the life of me I cannot believe we'd ever die for these sins_

_..._

_Now he's guilt stricken sobbing with his head on the floor  
thinks about her now and how he never really wept he says_

_We've tried to wash our hands of all of this  
we never talk of our lacking relationships  
and how we're guilt stricken sobbing with our heads on the floor  
we fell through the ice when we tried not to slip, we'd say."  
**The Verve Pipe, 'Freshman'**_

TBC…

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Thanks for reading, hope you liked it, and please let me know what you thought – it means alot!  
Steph  
xxx


	4. 3: Chuck

Chapter Three: Chuck

_"__We are each other's business: we are each other's magnitude and bond.__"  
__**Gwendolyn Brooks**_

It feels like old times when they're sitting like this, together. They're laughing and joking, drinking; and he revels in the memories it conjures.

He thinks it's a sign for something.

They've come full circle.

-

Serena's beyond tipsy, as she dances before them raising her glass in acknowledgement to each and all.

Nate's lazing in his chair, eyes only for the blonde throughout all those gulps; but smiles are contagious and soon she's won them all over.

Blair's watching them, watching him; she's drinking, but she's still Blair; though she leans against him and smiles into his chest, as he plays with her curls and holds her so close she can feel the beat of his heart against her own, and she thinks he'll always be in her dreams, exactly like this.

He's… content.

He thinks happiness can be overrated, but he's as close to it as he could be, only one stage better.

Satisfaction, fulfillment… this is what they give him, what _she _gives him.

Whatever happens, he knows this will live on.

The four of them.

Together.

Best friends for life.

The Non-Judging Breakfast Club.

-

Drinking at his pace and for this long seems to be his saving grace in those short moments from when the plane shudders that one last time, before rocketing vertically towards the unknown below, and then crashing with ferocious instability into the unforgiving water.

He's the most alert, the most prepared.

It sobers him somewhat, though it isn't really a shock; it'd be an understatement of self-assessed character.

He's counting in seconds, and he's hit one-hundred-and-ninety-five when he finally discovers their means of survival. Two-hundred-and-five when he finds their route of escape. Three-hundred-and-eighty-one when he finally speaks to her.

The figures hit him like the cold water lapping at his feet.

**195**

**205**

**381**

His birthday.

The anniversary of his father and Lily's wedding.

Three words, eight letters; one meaning.

-

Nate's readying their escape; yellow vest calling out to them like a beacon in the darkness.

Serena's standing skittishly near him, hopping from foot to foot and fidgeting with the banana colored top and all its adornments that she knows nothing about.

Blair's standing before him, eyes dark on his, because she's just as perceptive as he is, and she knows. She just _knows_.

He looks down at the single lifejacket in his hands.

His fingers entwine with hers, the rough plastic of their only hope for survival cutting into his palms like the wounds of the Passion from the Crucifixion.

He almost wishes there was some other way; but they've come full circle.

And he'll do this for her.

Be her sacrifice.

-

He knows Nate will want to help her, them, _after_. He also knows his best friend will be suffering.

There's the girl he once loved, and in some ways always will; and there's the one he's never stopped loving. And they'll both be responsible, in some way. It'll be up to him, and he'll lay the blame where he thinks best, but the boy's ultimately fair, and he has a feeling that neither blond nor brunette will come out on top in this round.

He almost wishes it didn't have to be this way, but he knows no other. The consequences will be what they are, and there's not much he can really do to alter their course. He only has now, only has this moment.

And he wouldn't change it for anything.

-

She's staring at him, wide-eyed, and fully aware.

He thrusts the lifejacket into her hands and tells her to take Serena and go.

She is the best swimmer, of this he knows. Better than Nathaniel, of this he is sure.

He remembers summers spent in pools under the Hampton sun. Mornings spent decked across sand playing witness to the beginnings of those swimming lessons with the fair-haired former Prince as teacher. Days spent lounging on floatation devices while the young brown-eyed girl followed his every word and carried it out with the utmost diligence, her blonde counterpart steadily losing interest. Evenings spent sipping on cocktails and anything else he could get his hands on as the petite brunette perfected her newfound talent, strengthening her ability till she was beyond top performance level, alone.

And if she wanes at all, his best friend will be by her side; because it is Blair, and it is Serena, and Nate is still the same boy he's always been.

She refuses, adamant that there must be another way.

He cuts her off with a searing kiss, and the taste of her lingers on his tongue with the same power as the feeling of her in his arms.

He tells her loves her: three words, eight letters. He's been hers long before this moment has passed, and they both know it.

He is hers, and she is his.

He tells her not to forget, and places his thumb beneath her chin to raise her eyes to his one last time.

And then he pushes her out into the ocean.

-

He doesn't think Blair will ever tell Serena what really happened; thinks intuition on all their parts might be enough.

It'd kill them, of course. And he's not being conceited, just realistic. The truth has a way of doing that; it seems to hurt more than suggestion ever could, and then there's nothing. Like numbness overtakes you. Like you're a living corpse.

He wonders if that's what he'll be.

Wonders if that's what he's already become.

But they flash before his eyes like he's watching a video clip of them from when they were Freshman, fresh-faced and forever young; and then it slips into a frozen image of the four of them smiling, and joking, posing for the camera; together.

And when it zooms in on her: her gorgeous ruby reds split into a smile, her wide brown eyes sparkling in delight; he knows he's going to be ok.

She's his constant, always there for him, forever with him; nothing would change that; nothing could.

So he smirks the smirk he knows she secretly loves, and sends her a wink along with it. And then with every bit the ease and confidence of a man taking his rightful place in the world, he gifts her the promise, "I'll be seeing you, lover."

_"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."  
**Jesus, **_**_John 15:13_**

TBC…

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A/N: I know that the numbers don't really correspond with the American date system, but I just thought they fit better in this way than if I'd changed them to work out in that sense ;)

This was the last chapter, but I'll be posting the epilogue very shortly :)  
If you have any questions about what 'actually' happened, or about anything I didn't realise explain very well or confused anyone, I'll be happy to answer :)  
Thanks so much for reading, and please be sure to let me know what you thought – it means a lot!  
Steph  
xxx


	5. Epilogue: Blair

Epilogue: Blair

_"__It's like, chasing shadows  
I never seem to win  
Just when I'm over you  
I feel myself falling again  
No hope of grace,  
I'm loosing faith  
All I can do is pray…_

_Can you hear me  
Can you hear me, oh...  
Can you hear me_

_'Cause it feels like the weight of the world  
Have the angels turned their back on me  
It feels like the weight of the world  
Can't let go of what we used to be  
And though my cries have gone unheard and I'm left on my knees  
It feels like the weight of the world  
'Cause I still remember how it felt  
When you loved me… when you loved me, oh..."  
**Lemar, 'Weight of the World'**_

I open my eyes wide for the first time and find myself looking across the city; watching the empire that could have been mine; the kingdom that should have been. Something in the corner of my eyes catches my attention and I turn to find the date staring back at me.

**3.8.2018**

_"Three words, eight letters. Say it and I'm yours."_

The words ring in my ears: low and sultry, demanding.

My breath catches in my throat and I know I'm starting to hyperventilate; but it's been so long, so long since I last heard his voice. Too long.

I can taste him on my tongue, feel his lips against mine.

He had kissed me, that last time. It was compelling, but gentle: like if he let go we'd float away, like our only ties to the world were those of one another. It was full of a thousand words that would never be said.

His last words.

_"I love you, Waldorf."_

At eighteen years of age.

_"Don't you forget that, Blair. Don't you damn well forget."_

And then he was gone.

-

My cheeks feel wet and my hands are shaking, and I look up to see those familiar eyes of old staring back at me; find myself staring into the wide ocean.

She's by my side in an instant, taking me in her arms, and as much as I want to fight it, I can't; I don't.

And we stay like that, just holding one another.

It feels like redemption.

-

I almost laugh when I look up to see a hand held out towards me, offering; because his eyes are so light I feel like I should be able to see through them, but I can't, and it's ironic really. I can't read him, not at this moment anyway; but Nate Archibald does not use drink as a way of coping, does not advise others too either.

I guess he left us all a little something.

I guess we all adopted something in his honor.

I guess he helped us remember: as if we could ever forget.

-

I take the drink and gift him a shaky smile in gratitude as I feel the cool glass tingle against my lips; my fingers trembling as I hold it between delicate fingers.

The alcohol burns my throat, numbs my insides.

It dulls what has become of our reality; a reality that tells us we are not what we were, and never will be again. We are not the Non-Judging Breakfast Club anymore.

The realization has been long coming, but it doesn't hit me like the tidal wave I maybe should have been expecting. Instead, it's water rising, and it's fitting really that I might eventually drown in it, because it's been lapping at my feet for some time now; nearly ten years, a long time coming.

I'm shivering, and it's not from the cold.

The fair-haired couple is split between me; my counterpart left to circle around us.

We rise as one, and each raise a glass towards the Heavens, towards the open sky; the world that extended outside our reach.

He always did have the ability to come and go wherever and whenever he felt like it.

He lived a life others could only dream of; a life untouched by anything but us.

We were his only real connection with the rest of the world.

We still are.

-

Surviving is hardest of all, I think to myself; and then cast a final glance back at the dark marble monument standing tall and proud before us all, spreading its shadow across us, and stretching beyond.

_I know, Chuck, _I murmur the words to the wind, to the world, to his ears. _I can still feel you; can still hear you. I know you're still here with me._

_And I still love you_; I tell him, conviction and remembrance lacing my words as a smile curves my lips and I walk back into the world with my best friends by my sides and an everlasting promise leading the way.

_  
"And tell me I am to believe that you and I should never be again  
I'm drowning  
When the one you leave is the one thing you believe  
You say goodbye when underneath's your one belief  
That love rules all, conquers all_

_It's funny how the times that seem unbearable  
Are the ones that you don't ever want to end  
And when your childhood slips away  
You find you face a brand new day  
And you know it can't be the same again_

_'Cause when you left you stayed in my memory  
I'm saying goodbye for now and have a drink for us  
And good luck in finding your way."_  
**_Missy Higgins, 'Drowning'_**

The End.

* * *

Ok, in case anyone is still confused :)  
Basically, for some reason (unbeknowest to everyone, including me) there weren't enough lifejackets, so when the plane crashed into the water (there was a malfunction of some kind during a storm) Chuck gave one to Nate, then they got Serena into one, and he gave the last one to Blair.  
Serena was still quite drunk, and Blair was the strongest swimmer, besides Nate, so he knew that to save Serena they would both need the lifejackets.  
First of all, he sacrificed his means of survival (lifejacket) by giving it to Blair, and then he sacrificed himself to save Serena; her best friend, and Nate's 'first love' or w/e ;)  
He knew they wouldn't all survive w/t lifejackets and he made the decision for that to be him. He also knew that he would only hold them back if he went with them w/t one, so he didn't go with them, and when he pushed Blair out the 'hatch'/'exit' he stayed, and presumably drowned, but his body is still missing.

That clear things up?  
I think it was a little hazy in my mind even as I wrote it, so sorry if it's still confusing!

I hope you liked this little fic :)

Thanks for reading, reviewing, favouriting and alerting!  
Please let me know what you thought of this part (and/or the rest ;) ) – it really means so much to me! :)  
Steph  
xxx


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